


modes of seduction

by smithens



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Banter, Canon Era, Everyone Loves Enjolras, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Massage, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Combeferre and Courfeyrac seem to be at odds. They also seem to be devoting more energy to pleasing Enjolras than usual.





	

Just as Enjolras began to relax at Combeferre’s skillful hands, their hour of repose was interrupted by the creak of the bedroom door pushed open.

  
This was a surprise: Enjolras had not heard the front door, probably neither did Combeferre, or he might have declared so. Indeed, the bedchamber was removed from the entrance to the apartment by one room, which in the case of friends with keys functioned effectively as a buffer to the noise of entry. Additionally, they two were each otherwise occupied. He did, however, hear the sound of Combeferre’s breath catching, and then a noise that sounded something like Courfeyrac shouting ‘ah!’.

  
Immediately thereafter, Combeferre ceased his movements, removed his hands from Enjolras’s hips, and settled back between his knees. Resisting the urge to reach around and pull him nearer, yet still displeased by the sudden lack of contact, Enjolras collapsed a little into the mattress, eyes closed. To express his frustration, he made a guttural noise against the pillow: it was not like Combeferre to lose focus so quickly, whether or not Courfeyrac were present.  
The door slammed shut.

  
“It is hardly what it looks like,” called Combeferre toward the door, his knee exerting an uncomfortable pressure against Enjolras’s thigh. A lift of his hips did nothing to quell the irritation.

  
Exasperated, Enjolras attempted to squirm out from beneath Combeferre, but found him unmovable. Instead he settled for rolling over: the linens fell to his waist as he did so, baring his shoulders and collar. He opened his eyes.

  
Keeping his tone flat, he murmured, “what else, Combeferre, could it possibly look like.”

  
Combeferre’s eyes widened as Enjolras fixed his gaze upon him, and after a brief moment of silence, he shifted so that he was no longer nearly seated on Enjolras’s thighs.

  
“Something other than experimental practise of oriental medicine upon a live model,” he said, nearly nonchalant, but as he turned away Enjolras caught the flush spreading across his dark cheeks. Whether or not their position appeared compromising (and it was not as though this had never before been the case), such a deep reaction to the interruption seemed unwarranted.

  
Vexed by these visible symptoms of embarrassment, usually so rare for Combeferre, Enjolras replied, “With a coverlet between us, _Citizen_? I should think that your equipment ought make this evident. If you are abashed, say so: you needn’t be so equivocal.”

  
Combeferre made a noise as though he wished to speak, but ultimately he said nothing. Enjolras reached to stroke the front of his knee, and bade that their eyes meet once again.

  
As they made contact, however, the door opened once more:“Combeferre? Equivocal? Why, never!”

  
Returned and standing in the doorway was Courfeyrac, dressed in his shirtsleeves, sans cravat and waistcoat.

  
Although he had not actually seen Courfeyrac the moment prior, Enjolras inferred from Combeferre’s deepening frown that this was an altered state of appearances. (That morning, prior to spending time with Combeferre, Enjolras had met Courfeyrac early - and he had been dressed more carefully than even Enjolras could determine was his usual.)

  
Soon enough it seemed any abashedness left him entirely, replaced with pique:

  
“Courfeyrac, if you please -”

  
“I am in fact highly aware of the fine art of massage - no, don’t look so agitated, my friend, this knowledge comes only from our _mutual alliances_. Indeed, Enjolras has a good pair of hands on him; he has tempted me to praise him from the rooftops, but I’d surely dirty my newly-tailored trousers in doing so.”

  
In response to these comments and the waggle of eyebrows which accompanied them, Enjolras shot Courfeyrac a half-hearted glare. The resulting wither was not very satisfying, and - incredibly - it did nothing to deter Courfeyrac’s sardonic humor: he waltzed over to the bed and sat at its edge, beside Combeferre.

  
Where he then continued at full speed: “In any case, given your intimate history with one another, I am surprised you thought so little of my inferential reasoning. It is a symptom of philosophical study, no doubt, for one to look down upon others who only wish to be planted firmly in the ground - you see my metaphor? Or - alas! - do your fantastical visions not extend thus far?”

  
“Perhaps it is your own intimate history that is suspect, Courfeyrac, although I shouldn’t doubt there exist deficiencies in your reasoning. As for me, dare I say it is better to wholly examine one’s reality prior to making proclamations? With a singular plane of sight, one is far too easily tempted toward recklessness - this you will know. Notwithstanding, I have come to understand that medicinal rubbing is not your preferred mode of sed-”

  
“What is the matter between you,” said Enjolras, having finally determined what was being discussed in his presence and determined also that he would have none of it. “for you each to act this way?”

  
It was like them to banter, to argue, not to strike.

  
Unless.

  
He forcibly nudged Combeferre with his knee and then sat fully upright, somehow uncaring that - being nude - he was the least modest man in the room, and in moving from beneath the covers revealed it. Courfeyrac spluttered.

  
“-sed...ition,” finished Combeferre lamely, after a significant pause. Enjolras was cognizant of where his gaze travelled.

  
When Enjolras clasped his shoulder, Combeferre’s cheeks flushed, and he dropped his gaze toward the floor.

  
“There is not... one matter,” said Courfeyrac. He seated himself on the bed at Enjolras’s other side after a period of awkward standing, but unlike Combeferre, stared stolidly at the ceiling.

  
Enjolras sighed.

  
He eyed the manner in which Combeferre shifted his weight as he sat, and the too-innocent expression which Courfeyrac had affected. He considered their excessively contrarian attitudes and the expressions of affection which he had received from each of them that day: breakfast and a walk with Courfeyrac, who had doted upon him more than usual; and Combeferre’s massage, which followed his company in reading an old volume of logical theory.

  
He set one hand upon Courfeyrac’s knee and the other at Combeferre’s shoulder.

  
“Should either of you desire to confess what has occurred between you, I shall be an attentive listener. Until then, I have tasks which require my focus,” said Enjolras, and he untangled himself from beneath the covers and between his friends to stand, then don a nightshirt in their presence.

  
Only after closing the door to his bedchamber and seating himself at his writing desk did it occur to him that neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac had ever seen him in such a complete state of undress before.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes having an intimate night with one of your best friends helps you realize that your deepest romantic feelings are actually directed at your _other_ best friend.
> 
> originally posted on Tumblr in proto-form, but I revisited it (if only a little).
> 
> [find me on tumblr as [smithensy](http://smithensy.tumblr.com/)]


End file.
